


Seeing in Grayscale, Trapped in a Box

by SaccharineandSweet



Category: Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Implied Relationships, Mild Gore, Not Beta Read, Persona 5 Spoilers, but not really, no royal spoilers though, this is just persona 5 in akechi's pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:27:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25477660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaccharineandSweet/pseuds/SaccharineandSweet
Summary: The world did not simply work in black and white. This much was obvious. And yet, in a sense, it did, the life the people all lived being mind games upon mind games, each contained in their own neat little square on the chessboard in the game of life.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira (implied), Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist (implied)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 13





	Seeing in Grayscale, Trapped in a Box

The second coming of the detective prince had no time for any games, balancing his facade as an investigator with his true occupation as evenly as he balanced truths and lies. Although, he did have a penchant for chess, but he doubted that he'd ever find a someone to properly play with. At the time.

\--------------

Everyday was a monotonous one, for Goro Akechi. Nothing to detract from the formula established ever happened. Every so often, he'd receive a call to 'take care' of a certain someone's political rival. _What a bore._ Finally silencing the shadows pathetic begging, he left.

\---------------

Some evenings, when he had time to himself, he'd find himself sitting in the dark of a jazz club, letting the atmosphere wash over him, envelop him, hide him in its warm mantle of song. Here, no one cared who he was, that he was Akechi, the 'oh-so charming detective prince' with the 'pretty face' and 'nice smile.' Here, as long as he paid, wasn't too loud or disrespectful, none of that mattered.

Maybe that's why he kept coming back.

This time, his mind decided it had time to wander, to ask itself pointless questions. He didn't have time, but it seemed to not care. He found himself wondering, perhaps, if the people believed everything in the world to be black and white to have some sort of point, if a complete lack of sense. After all, he himself considered much of everything, really, to be part of a large game. A game of chess, in fact, where every move you make should be thought so deeply and carefully that at that point you were better going off on intuition instead of logic as your opponent had already planned out the entire rest of the game.

He'd find out that 'game' was certainly a way to describe the sick puppet show he'd eventually become a part of, as an actor. That was fine, though. He was practically already an actor, done his job so well that the awards they give should go to him, really, having to put up with the particularly infuriating hosts of some television shows he'd get invited to, respond with the same plastic, overly sugared, artificial smiles that the audience ate up, just like the sickly sweet honey of pride that the politicians in Masayoshi Shido's ring of corruption gorged themselves on daily.

How pitiful they were.

\--------------

After that day, he'd wondered, almost jokingly so, what kind of piece he'd play in a game of such a grand scale. Perhaps a rook, or a bishop ( _what irony, if that were true_ ), each limited to a certain set of axes of movement? No, not them. Rooks were the common people, the masses. Bishops were shadows, stuck as creatures of the Metaverse, the sea of cognition. It should seem, then, that he acted as a queen, able to traverse both reality and alternative, sneaking pieces away, off the board in the dark, where none should find him.

\--------------

It seemed in this interlocking web of chess games, he was not the only queen in play. A group calling themselves 'The Phantom Thieves' seemed to be drawing Shido's ire lately. It seemed that they'd caused a teacher at a certain school to confess to him crimes. Metaverse users they were, it seemed.

A month later, famous artist confessed to stealing his pupils works. Then, a mob boss, willingly turning himself in. In the time between these events, he'd met someone. Seemingly insignificant, they proved to be an excellent discussion partner, quite skilled at chess, a fast learner of billiards and darts, talented at brewing coffee... and most likely the leader of the Phantom Thieves, a fellow queen. Ah, what a bother, as they made lovely company, and an even better rival. Unlike everyone else he knew, they were truly fascinating.

It was fine though. He could trick them into giving him information, he was sure, in little conversations over friendly games of chess, giving pretty little lies out like candy to the listening ears on the side of his rivals pretty little face. This was all it was, certainly. An act.

\--------------

One time, he'd fought his rival, a test of strength. Persona user to persona user. That day had been one of the best days of his life, a truly exhilarating experience, a battle against his oh so _shockingly_ interesting opponent. Yes, he'd lost, and he absolutely loathed loosing, but it wasn't about that, really.

\--------------

Eventually, after the defeat of the false Medjed and the death of the Okumura, he'd finally used all the evidence he'd compiled against the Thieves. It was simple, really. The loud one had been just a bit too loud in his excitement of being a Phantom Thief, and they really weren't the most subtle with really anything they did. With that, they let him in as a member of the team, to 'work together' or something. It didn't matter at this point.

When playing chess, each side has only one queen, but by playing well enough, promoting pawns can create far more. Of course, this was no easy feat, but he suspected that's all the Thieves were. Promoted pawns. Except for their leader, of course. His rival, the opposing queen.

When they played together, Akechi always played white. After all, white moves first, and well, it reflected reality true enough. It seemed quite funny at the time, now mostly ironic. 

\--------------

He remembered this one day quite well, a certain 20th of November. He remembered the conversation he had with his coworker, the strange thing she'd done. He'd remembered the sound when the other man fell and hit the ground, a sickly, fleshy thump of a sound, blood and gore splattering so strikingly juxtaposed against the grey walls and floor like a particularly macabre abstract painting.

Finally, he remembered the look on his rival's face- _not quite so pretty anymore, all bruised and bloody_ -when the bullet entered his forehead.

Whisper "Checkmate."

He left.

\--------------

He'd been tricked, of course. That was fine, it meant that his rival wasn't so pathetic, he supposed. When the calling card was sent, he knew he'd be there, waiting for them.

It went right as he thought it would, up until it didn't.

He should've expected this, honestly. He was a puppet. His final enemy was a puppet of a puppet, a false version of himself.

It was then, after the bulkhead door had closed, after the cognition's bullet tore a hole through his body, that he realized exactly which piece he'd played. He was a pawn, who'd been just in front of the final row of the board, so very close to becoming a queen, before he was stopped in his tracks, a lamb up for slaughter.

And, in all technicality, he left.

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically my first time writing, so please leave feedback in the comments.


End file.
